


Armistitium

by snomi98



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:21:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snomi98/pseuds/snomi98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the meet on the bridge is almost successful</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“We need that girl, she is clearly the leader they all respect. Clarke is the one most likely to make an alliance with us to save her people from the savages that are ravaging our rightful home. And due to the work of our hackers, when the rest of her people come down if they don’t cooperate she can be our leverage as she is important to many of their council members.” 

Cage chortled in sick satisfaction of his own brilliance, his father’s men, clearly dubious of his plan but wishing to avoid the madman’s sadistic tendencies when he is questioned, stay silent. The men trained to block out distractions distances themselves from Cage’s perverted ideas of how to get the Arc to cooperate when they ‘in his mind’ inevitably refuse his terms. The soldiers are trained not be distracted by the things they hear but even the most senior officers are shifting uneasily at the list Cage is rattling off, lost in his own delirious world. 

One man, if he could be titled that, called out. “Sir, the grounders are moving, their leader, Anya and a small war party are headed towards the old bridge where there is a small group of unarmed sky people waiting.” Cage’s gaze turned icy as he fixed his stare on the boy who had interrupted him. “What?” The unstable man’s voice was muted with true rage at his plans potentially being flawed. He had not taken into account the sky girl’s courage to face her enemy, or of the grounders capability to see through past wrongdoings. 

He stood still for a few minutes, watching the blinking dot on the screen indicating the movement of the two parties before a ruthless smile spread across his face. He had thought of a way to get the sky girl and the grounder leader into the mountain with a plan that even his altruistic father, the President would agree with. “Those girls are mine.”


	2. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: few timeline differences, Clarke never slept with Finn because she found out from one of the hundred that he had a girlfriend. She now disregards him as a decent person and often refuses to listen to his clouded judgment in regards to her.

The ancient bridge materialized through the alkaline fog, stretching out forever ahead of Clarke as she came to a halt on the crumbling edge. Her mind uneasy, churning through her decision to meet the grounders for peace, still confused as to why she agreed to Finn’s harebrained scheme. Octavia’s form emerged from the early morning mist covering the bridge, rising up from the racing river below. Her hand raised greeting Clarke, as the blonde stepped forwards, not entirely trusting of the structure. Her step faltered when she saw Lincoln, memories of the atrocities she had committed in the name of answers, rising up, threatening her composure. A small reassuring smile from the man was all that was needed before her mask was replaced and she strode forwards confidently. With a terse nod she acknowledged her companions before her face set into a grim smile as she awaited the leader of the grounders. 

While she waited her attention skated around, from the tall trees in all their majesty to the riverbed below, captivated by the vividness of the colours. Nature scenes that had been imagined into reality for years were now available for her hand to copy. Lost in wonderment a barely audible grunt from Lincoln brought Clarke back to herself, a small part of her crying out at the loss. Lincoln was shifting uneasily, head darting around, taking in the surroundings but in a different way to Clarke. His eyes were searching; scanning the surrounding forest for any signs that it was not as it should be. The openness of Lincoln’s unease startled Clarke causing her to distrust the situation. Wondering if it was possibly a trap she stepped back to converse with Lincoln and Octavia, ignoring Finn’s pining hopeful look, ready to berate him and herself for losing focus. 

A noise on the other end of the bridge startled her. Clarke’s head whipped up, halting at the sight that lay at the other end of the bridge. “Horses,” it slipped out before she could control it, her awe at seeing the animals she had read about taking hold of her for a minute. Her gaze drifted upwards, away from the imposing animal onto the woman no, warrior, riding it. The female warrior in an impressive display of grace and agility swung her body off the beasts and landed lithely on the pockmarked concrete below. The two negotiators strode forwards, to meet in the middle of the bridge. 

As they walked Clarke took the time to apprise the body in front of her that emanated power, strength and confidence. The grounder was dressed in what looked to be black leather, littered with weapons. Her face was impassive, carved from marble. Heavy war paint lined her eye sockets making her look older and more ferocious. The two women stopped in the middle, face to face, separated by only a small chasm of air. Clarke raised her pale hand to close that gap in an effort to expel the icy feeling between the two leaders. Her gesture went unreciprocated by the warrior and she withdrew her arm. “I think it is time to do better. We have more people coming down, warriors with guns, but also farmers, teachers, healers and builders. I wish for us to start our new life down here in peace.” Clarke looked questioningly at Anya, waiting for a reply. The older women’s face remained unreadable as she processed what the blonde girl had said. 

“I understand. You started a war that you don't know how to end." Clarkes face fell. “A war. When? You attacked us, killed my people.” Anya’s eyes widened at the confusion clearly evident on the sky girl’s words. “If anyone started a war it was you.” Anya observed the fire blazing in Clarke’s eyes, the drive to protect her people, but couldn’t find any hint of the brutality her people have told her that the golden haired princess was capable of. Deciding to humor the girl’s supposed lack of knowledge on the attack, ”You sent missiles, they wiped out an entire village; elders and children, simple farmers, not warriors.” Clarkes face went pale and she began to breathe heavily, her pulse visibly erratic on her neck. “You didn’t know?” 

Horror painted Clarke’s face, aghast that Anya would even consider that an attack like that would be ordered. “No, the missiles were flares to signal the rest of our people that the ground is safe. They had no guiding system, if I had known, we never would have launched.” Tremors wracked Clarke’s body as she realized what she had inadvertently done. “O God, those people, I killed them.” The gentle cries of anguish were cut short when Anya stepped towards Clarke. “Jus drein jus daun, blood must have blood, you atone for these deaths and we will have peace.” 

Anya reached out and grabbed Clarke’s right hand tightly, slashing her palm savagely with her hunting knife. ”You will become ours, same as her,” Anya motions towards Octavia in recognition of the union she made with Lincoln, blood still dripping of the knife. “We will teach you our ways and in time our two clans will merge to become one. But this treaty is not with the other sky people you speak of, the ones not yet arrived, they will have to make their own deal with the commander when and if they arrive. Are we in agreement?” Clarke still shocked by the fierce woman’s mercy in regard to her deeds glanced back to Octavia in a daze, looking for a sign that she agreed, disregarding Finn’s wish to share his opinion completely. She caught the small nod of Octavia’s head and turns back to Anya. “We accept.” 

Anya transferred the knife to her left palm before bringing it down on her right, parting the skin without a sound. The two women reach out, mirroring Clarke’s earlier attempt at goodwill. The sky girl’s inner doctor going nuts at the number of potential infections occurring before she quieted the voice. Clarkes’ pale hand, smeared with blood clasped Anya’s own sun kissed palm, the two bloods mingling. They shook once before the two hands slid up to grip each other’s forearm in a show of solidarity, leaving blood trails up both women’s arms.


	3. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Clarke did not bring back up to the bridge; the only people there were Lincoln, Octavia and Finn.

**Clarkes’ pale hand, smeared with blood clasped Anya’s own sun kissed palm, the two bloods mingling. They shook once before the two hands slid up to grip each other’s forearm in a show of solidarity, leaving blood trails up both women’s arms.**

The two women disengaged, a rare smile graced Anya’s face as she contemplated the fun she could have training the sky girl. Her smile spread wider at the expression on Clarke’s face before she paused, sensing something wrong. The ground trembled under their feet, small pebbles protesting the unnatural movement of the earth below their hard exterior. Grey rocks leaping into action all around the group on the bridge as if to escape the immense force causing the upheaval. A cacophony of sound rose from the surrounding forest. Birds taking to the sky and animals crashing through the underbrush in a hysterical escape attempt.

The entire forest moved as if it had been hit by a shockwave, spreading outwards from a point of impact not 300 metres from the bridge. The signs of disturbance wiped the smug looks of success off Anya and the other grounders faces.

A horn blasted through the seemingly impenetrable barrage of noise, like the red sea. Not the long, deep tones of the fog-horn but different ones, they were higher, forced, with no discernible pattern, as if the noise itself was rebelling against the blower. A horn that echoed notes tinged with the violence, rage and death that clung to the people blasting it. Clarke turned to Anya, clearly confused about the commotion, questions evident in her blue eyes. “Reapers” Anya breathed out in answer to the silent request, a small hint of panic discernible in her voice. Clarke still quite oblivious to the threat began to feel a hint of fear as she observed the shiver that ran down the superficially fearless warriors’ spine.

Anya grabbed Clarke’s hand in a similar manner to earlier, however instead of slicing her palm she pressed the dagger, hilt first into the wounded skin. Nodding with approval at the sky girls move to transfer the blade to her left hand where it was clearly more comfortable. Having divested the weapon she was carrying, the warrior reached over her head with her right hand to grasp the sword that lay on her back, while her left went to her waist, pulling another dagger from the apparently inexhaustible stock housed there. “Use the trees, get away and take the sky people too,” Clarkes face dropped as she came to the realization that Anya had moments before. They were surrounded on the center of the bridge with no means to escape. The others who were at the edge could easily slip into the forest and be safe from the coming threat.

The rumbling continued to grow louder as the reaper threat drew nearer. With Anya’s words the grounders turned and ran without hesitation, the penalty for not following orders, a higher motivation than the thought of being called a coward. Others dropped from the trees on the sky people’s side of the bridge; drawing a gasp from Clarke as she realized the measures Anya was willing to go to in order to ensure her peoples safety. The grounders from the trees grabbed the sky people and yanked, clearly wishing to be out of there. Octavia refused to move, despite Lincoln’s insistent pleading, before she ran towards Clarke and Anya, both still in the middle of the concrete death trap. As she ran her feet were swept out from under her as Lincoln scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder fireman style, despite clear expressions of her displeasure.

Anya watched as the last of the grounders disappeared into the forest with the sky people, before turning back to Clarke. “Now we fight, ready yourself.” The wave of reapers in the forest reached the end of the bridge. Each individual grotesque face clearly visible, blood disguised as war paint drenching their features. Shattered, poor excuses for weapons looming over their heads, broken war cries ringing as they bore down on the two leaders. The palpitations of the bridge growing stronger as it protested the extra weight on its back. “There are too many of them,” Anya could barely hear Clarke’s voice above the din, the bloodthirsty cries of the amassing reapers drowning any attempts at talking. The warrior whipped her head around, surveying the enemy on both sides before deeming any attempt to fight back hopeless. She turned to Clarke, beckoning her to sprint to the edge of the bridge where there was no handrail, “Do you trust me?” “No.” “Good, there is hope for you yet. Now jump.” With that Anya grabbed Clarkes hand and yanked, pulling the blonde off the bridge into the uncertain fate that awaited them below.

A loud splash accompanied the two bodies entering the water. Clarke immediately panicked on impact as the cold water shocked her system and reminded her of her inability to swim. She began to sink, the heavy cloth of her cloths inundated with water weighing her down. A strong hand gripped the jacket on her back, pulling her upwards towards the light with short quick strokes. Her head broke the surface, droplets spraying, as she blew out the inhaled water. Anya, still pulling Clarke by the scruff of her clothes, yanked the half drowned blonde towards the shore, mindful of the reapers rage-filled screaming on the bridge. Sharp rocks with a seemingly hidden agenda tore into Clarke’s back as she was dragged, gasping for air, over them by the warrior who saved her life. She twisted onto her stomach when Anya released her grip. The sky girl’s entire body was wracked with convulsions as she tried to expel the water from her lungs. Catching her breath, Clarke rose from the ground, a word of thanks dying on her lips.

The forest came alive, with unspoken promises of revenge, reapers crashing through the trees. Anya rose into a fighting stance, fists raised, no weapons except one small dagger, the rest lost to the water. Reapers bled out of the trees, oozing down the riverbank like the blood they hungered to spill. Backed into the river the two watched the reapers circle like a pack of wolves, hungry for the kill. The bloodthirsty men rushed the two women. Clarke’s heart-rate elevated, her breath came in short sharp gasps, adrenaline rushing through her veins before dissipating. The knife fell from the blonde’s hand, her body spent. She collapsed, making peace with the certain death she was sure awaited her. “Clarke, Clarke.” Anya didn’t have time to check if she was okay as a large mass crashed into her. She threw the reaper off using his weight against him but it was for naught. Another replaced every reaper she killed; there was only so much she could do to protect herself and the prone form behind her.

As she ducked under a crude axe, a large hand flew at her face, connecting with the side of her jaw. The world through her eyes went hazy round the edges before blacking out; the last thing through her conscious mind was a high-pitched whine, before all went dark.


	4. Walls of Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap between posting, life got in the way

**As she ducked under a crude axe, a large hand flew at her face, connecting with the side of her jaw. The world through her eyes went hazy round the edges before blacking out; the last thing through her conscious mind was a high-pitched whine, before all went dark.**

Harsh, white, electric light drilled into her eyelids, prying them open with invisible, cold, unfeeling hands. As her mind returned to a conscious state she began to panic. The walls around her were white, the furniture, everything, foreign, unknown to her. Movement returned to her body and she scrambled of the bed, her actions so blatantly displaying her weakness. Anya crouched in one of the corners opposite the door, the best place in the room to defend herself if need be. 

Her hair whipped round as she surveyed the room, eyes taking in her surroundings. A small circular window in the door caught her attention. Slowly and cautiously she rose from the crouched stance she was in and padded softly to the door, keeping her head out of the windows piercing gaze. Curiosity got the better of her as she raised her head to peer through the glass eye-like hole. A plethora of white greeted her before a flash of blonde caught her attention.

There, opposite her round-window-like-thing, that refused to show the outside world, was Clarke. A familiar face in the unfamiliar surroundings; bringing relief to her features, before she remembered that she was still infuriated at the girl.

A horn blared, lights turning the snow coloured walls to blood. Men, or at least Anya assumed they were men, strode down the corridor in bulky blue suits. They stopped in front of the two doors, locks moving with a decisive click. The heavy doors swung open and the blue figures cuffed them before dragging the two women from their cells and down the hall.

Two great steel doors loomed ahead of the group. Anya momentarily forgot her anger at the girl and leaned into Clarke, a reflexive weakness that she soon corrected and recoiled from the blonde’s attempt at a reassuring touch. Once the escort had passed, the doors sealed with a hiss of air. The men removed their suits, immaculate uniforms materializing from under the blue plastic.

Crisp, white, ironed shirts that would never be possible on the ground cloaked the strange men. Such pristine garments were a new sight for both Anya and Clarke who had never seen the likes before. The men formed a tight pack around the two women, escorting them through the concrete corridors and past complacent citizens who looked on with little care. The armed escort stopped at a seemingly regular door. One raised his hand and knocked, three booming sounds produced by his efforts. A small voice, seemingly weak, penetrated through the solid door, “Come in.” The man who had knocked opened the door with little effort, the hinges obviously well oiled, revealing an old man with graying hair dressed in a blue suit, different to the blue outfits the others had previously been wearing. “Welcome, I am President Dante.” The man looked down and saw the cold metal cuffs on the women’s wrists. “Release them for they are our guests and not my prisoners.” His false attempt at a peace gesture did not go unnoticed by Clarke, though the subtle hostility was lost on Anya who was unaccustomed to veiled threats.

“Leave us,” Dante spoke harshly to the guards, as if admonishing them for their treatment of the prisoners-turned-guests, “I will show these two around.” The guards filed out the door, Dante stood up and followed them without looking back, clearly expecting Clarke and Anya to follow. They looked at each other, silent conversation passing between them despite their lack of knowledge of the other. A decision reached, they followed Dante out the door and into a world they knew not.

He led them through endless concrete hallways, convoluted and mystifying in layout, completely baffling Anya’s sense of direction with the peculiar twists and turns. Dante’s mock tour ended in the great hall they had been ‘escorted’ past earlier, enticing smells wafting out, tempting the two women who had, according to their stomachs, not eaten in a while. A large smile appeared on Dante’s face, “Look, you are just in time for dessert,” he exclaimed gleefully.

They sat down to eat at his behest; a strange brown mass that everyone in the room seemed to enjoy was passed to them. It sat heavy on their plates looking up at the sullen women as if it was goading them to eat its visibly sticky brownness. “What is this?” Disgust was evident on Anya’s face as she stood up. Nobody answered. A guard posted at the door moved to reach for his gun. Clarke aught this movement out of the corner of her eye and laid a hand on the enraged woman’s arm. Imperceptibly nodding towards the guard, his gun half out of the holster, ready to respond to any perceived threat. Anya shrugged off the contact and returned to her seat. They sat silent, glaring at everyone for the rest of the meal.

An audible sigh of relief passed between their tense bodies as the residents, oblivious to the tension, filed out of the mess hall, returning to their mundane lives. Dante stood, “Zach here will show you to your room.” He waved at the guard at the door beckoning him over. Zach waltz up to them and stated in a cocky manner, “If you want to sleep, follow me.” Clarke found that his mannerisms reminded her of Bellamy in the early days. Mentally weary from the day they followed without complaint, ignoring his attempts along the way to get a rise out of them. The boy halted in front of a bulkhead and turned the wheel to open it. “Ladies, welcome to your new home.”

His insolent smile slid off his face as Anya growled, deep in the back of her throat, clearly over Zach’s impertinent attitude. He turned and ran, youth and inexperience showing. Clarke pushed the door open and took in the meager surroundings. Two metal beds stood on opposite sides of the room, white sheets stacked on the ends. Other than that the room was sparsely decorated, a box sat between the two beds with a lamp and the only other piece of furniture, a wardrobe, stood open, devoid of garments.


End file.
